


leave this dress a mess on the floor

by sahraylia



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Aftercare, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Begging, Biting, Bottom George, Come Marking, Comeplay, Coming Untouched, Cuddling & Snuggling, Denial, Dirty Talk, Dom Alex, Domestic Servitude, Embarrassment, Face-Fucking, Finger Sucking, Intercrural Sex, Lingerie, M/M, Mild Feminization, Mild Humiliation, Praise Kink, QPQ verse, Queen Alex, Rimming, Roleplay, Service Kink, Service Submission, Sex Crying, Sexual Roleplay, Spanking, Spooning, Sub George, Top Alex, Verbal Humiliation, possessive kink, qpq, quid pro quo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-18 07:37:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7305577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahraylia/pseuds/sahraylia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One night on the campaign trail, Alex takes charge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	leave this dress a mess on the floor

The night air is balmy outside on this restaurant rooftop where George and Alex are sharing a quiet, private dinner, in a rare moment of perfect solitude found amidst the chaos of the campaign trail. George is hit with the sudden realization that he hasn’t felt this contentedly happy and relaxed in weeks, if not months. He stills, watching in reverent silence as Alex finishes off the last of his pasta carbonara, and he feels a familiar warmth blossoming in his chest, thrumming underneath his skin. He takes in the serene image of his boy, his Brandy Alexander, bathed in flickering golden candlelight with the mint green cashmere sweater George bought him just last week rolled up to his elbows, his dark hair cascading in gentle waves around his shoulders and framing his face elegantly, his eyelashes fanned out on his cheekbones as he sets down his fork and wipes his mouth with a napkin. George feels breathless.

“I’ll get the check,” George says, his voice hoarse. He clears his throat belatedly.

Alex smiles, shakes his head a little, and there’s something unreadable in his face, something just beneath the surface that makes George’s heart stutter against his ribs with anticipation. “Not yet,” Alex murmurs. “In a moment.”

Then Alex waves their waiter over to their table. “Your best red wine, please,” he says, his lips curling around the words, and he looks directly at George as he speaks. 

George stops himself from gasping out loud, but just barely, his mouth going slack. Alex’s gaze is heavy on him for a few seconds, unwavering, then he turns to the waiter and adds, “And he’ll have the white. Thank you.”

The waiter gives a short, polite nod, completely unaware of the sudden tension between his two guests, and leaves.

George’s fingers twitch involuntarily on his thigh. He feels lightheaded, drunk, although he’s had hardly any alcohol. Alex hasn’t stopped looking at him, his mouth twisting up into a calm, knowing smile. George feels naked, exposed. The silence stretches. George breaks it.

“Red tonight?” He hardly recognizes his own voice.

Alex lifts his chin, just a fraction, imperious. His eyes flash. “Yes, I think so, darling.”

George shivers.

Their waiter returns with the wine moments later, one a deep burgundy and the other syrupy yellow in frosted crystal glasses. Alex thanks him and sends him away for the check, looking pointedly at George once they’re alone again. Everything about Alex has shifted, his spine straightened, his face tilted slightly to one side. When he speaks, his voice is soft, almost detached, yet shot through with a shard of ice.

“Drink,” he orders. 

George waits a beat, testing. It’s been a while, and they only discussed this once, so maybe…

But then Alex raises one eyebrow, his features narrowing dangerously. George clears his throat, lifting the glass of white wine and taking a careful sip. It’s sharp, crisp. Alex smirks.

George can’t help but to stare openly when Alex takes a long, luxurious pull from his own wine, his throat working slowly as he drinks, Adam’s apple bobbing. George swallows, mouth going sandpaper dry, and when he looks up again, Alex is leveling cool, assured eyes at him, and there’s no mistaking that expression: Alex is in full control tonight. 

“My Queen,” George whispers, understanding. 

Alexander hums, places his glass on the table, settles back into his chair like it’s a throne. He thumbs away a drop of blood red wine from the corner of his mouth, circles his tongue around the digit before taking it between his lips and sucking it clean. His next words are not an order, but a statement of fact.

  
“You will do my bidding tonight.”

*

The check arrives a couple minutes later, and with one significant look from Alexander, George gets out his wallet. After the bill is paid, he stands and waits for Alexander to get up too, but Alexander remains seated and stares up at him expectantly, his forearms crossed in front of his chest. George hovers, unsure.

“My chair, George,” Alexander sighs, slightly acidic, and everything clicks into place.

“Oh,” George says, meek. “I apologize. Here.”

He comes around behind Alexander, grips the back of his chair with both hands and slides him carefully away from the table. Alexander rises, the movement graceful, and he murmurs, “my coat,” but George has already taken it from the chair. He helps Alexander into his coat, his hands lingering on his shoulders for a bit longer than strictly necessary. 

“Good,” Alexander pronounces, his tone arch. “Now get us a car.”

Ten minutes later, they’re sitting in the back of a cab, and Alexander is watching resolutely out the window, but he has one hand resting on George’s thigh, a self-assured reminder of their respective positions. George is half hard in his slacks. His heart is racing with excitement, and perhaps a hint of trepidation. It’s been so long. 

Alexander like this, regal and commanding, is extremely rare. The last time was over a year ago, before the campaign officially started but had been announced, and Alex was feeling particularly intoxicated with power. They had retired to Alex’s apartment that night, and Alex had kissed him with a fervent, commanding confidence, and said “strip.” In that moment he became Alexander, George’s Queen, his liege, the same enigmatic beauty who had put on a bottle green corset and forced George flat onto his back with a single heeled foot just months beforehand. 

So George had stripped. And Alexander had said “kneel,” and George had knelt. And Alexander had said, “take off my pants,” and George had started to reach for his fly, but Alexander had stilled his hands and whispered, “with your mouth.” So George had pulled down Alexander’s zipper with only his teeth while Alexander undid the button and pushed his jeans down to his thighs. Alexander had been wearing black silk panties and a matching lace garter, and George had removed both of those with his teeth as well. Then Alexander had fucked George’s face until he came down his throat with a strangled shout, digging his fingernails into George’s shoulders and pumping his hips while George swallowed every last drop of Alexander’s seed. 

Afterward, lying together in a sated heap on the floor, Alex had mused that they could have some sort of code for when he was feeling like this and they were out in public, like they sometimes did in the office with Alex’s different colored ties. “I could order red wine or something,” Alex had said, laughing brightly as he twirled his garter around his fingers. “You know, white is for princess shit, and red is for queen. If I get red wine, then I’m in charge.”

George goes hazy now with the memory, his slacks tightening further, and he drapes his jacket surreptitiously over his lap. Alexander’s mouth quirks up into a faint smile in the reflection of the car window, and he presses his thumb subtly into George’s thigh.

They arrive at the hotel. George throws a wad of cash at the driver, muttering a hurried “thanks” before moving stiffly out of the car, then coming around to Alexander’s side and opening the door for him unasked. Alexander gifts him with an approving nod, heat in his eyes, and they make their swift way to their room.

The second George shuts the door behind them, he turns to Alexander and drops immediately to his knees, all pretenses dissolved. Alexander’s pupils dilate, and he licks his lips, gliding forward in a few steps and cupping George’s cheek with one sure hand. George leans readily into the touch.

“Very well,” Alexander says, smooth as sea glass. “Let’s begin.”

*

An hour later, George is on all fours in the dark of their hotel suite, naked and quivering as Alexander drops searing kisses down the length of his spine, still fully clothed and chuckling wickedly into his skin.

“You’re trembling,” Alexander marvels, his voice dark, crushed velvet. He squeezes George’s hips, biting just above his tailbone as an afterthought and making George cry out in surprise. “Do you want my mouth, darling?”

George moans, disconcerted by his unchecked reactions, and he buries his face in the cradle of his arms as Alexander travels lower. “Yes, yes, my liege,” he mumbles, shifting restlessly. “Oh god, please…”

Alexander hums, considering, then bites sharp at the inside of one of his thighs. George curses, his cock jerking between his legs. He chants “please” over and over, mindless, until Alexander finally sighs and leans away, giving George’s ass a light smack. “Spread, then.”

George obeys instantly, bowing his back and shifting his knees apart until his ass is fully presented, and he hears Alexander make a low noise of appreciation, of approval, feels Alexander’s hands palming his cheeks. George blushes and pants, his toes curling into the mattress.

“Such a pretty servant,” Alexander says, musing, and George shudders violently at the heady combination of praise and insult. “Kneeling here, before your Queen. And look at this gaping hole. Ready to be used, I think.”

Before George can formulate a proper response, Alexander’s face is buried in his ass, his mouth sealing around the rim and sucking hard and relentless as his tongue plunges deep inside, fucking him open, and George nearly buckles on the spot, gasps, “oh, oh, oh,” stammering and desperate as Alexander eats him out at an absolutely merciless pace.

“You beautiful goddamn creature,” Alexander breathes after a minute of this, leaning back and spanking first George’s right asscheek in earnest, then the left, the blows coming fast and forceful. George’s mouth falls open in shock, his breath hitching in his chest, and he can’t stop the wrecked noises that build when Alexander pinches viciously at his his reddened, abused skin.

Alexander dives back in a moment later, gripping possessively at George’s hips and pulling him closer as he laps and sucks at George’s hole with renewed vigor, and George feels as if he could come apart at the seams at any moment. He grinds back into Alexander’s mouth, urgent and ashamed, turning his face to one side and clenching the pillow with both hands as he groans and gasps and shakes. 

“My Queen, my liege, oh fuck, oh my god,  _ please _ …”

Alexander licks a long, steady stripe from George’s balls over his perineum and back up to his asshole, nipping teasingly at the thin skin there. George groans low in the back of his throat.

“You’re really needy tonight, darling,” Alexander says, a note of warning in his voice, his words ghosting against George’s hole. “If there’s something you want, you will ask for it nicely.” His nails dig into George’s hips, sudden and painful. “Or else.”

George’s brain short circuits at the threat, and for a moment he’s utterly speechless.  _ Christ, Alexander _ , he thinks. Out loud, he begs, unraveling.

“Please, my liege, please fuck me,” he babbles, his last semblances of control slipping. “Please have me. I’m yours, please fuck me, have me, take me, just take me… let me serve you,  _ use me _ .”

Alexander’s next breath comes ragged, serrated. He slides up George’s body, achingly slow, drapes himself over his back and touches his forehead to the top of George’s spine. George keeps completely still, doesn’t dare even to breathe, but it’s a herculean effort.

Alexander brings his mouth to the shell of George’s ear, raises two fingers to his lips and whispers, “Suck.” 

George comes embarrassingly close to sobbing with relief, opens his mouth gratefully and sucks on Alexander’s offered fingers until they’re soaking wet with saliva when Alexander removes them. He spreads his legs further apart in apprehension and hisses out an emphatic “ahh” at the first press of Alexander’s spit-slick fingers into his loosened hole. Alexander works methodically, fingering him open at a torturous pace. 

“Look at you, my greedy fucking whore,” Alexander observes, his tone conversational, and the groan that tears its way out of George’s body could be best described as animalistic. Alexander ignores him, continues to fuck him with his fingers as he keeps up his stream of filthy words. “So desperate to be used, to be filled, to be fucked any and every way you can. But you won’t take just anything, will you? You must have your Queen, and your Queen alone. Because I’m the only one who can fuck you like this, aren’t I, George? I’m the only one who touches this ass. Isn’t that right?”

George bears down on Alexander’s fingers, dizzy with his words. “Yes, yes my Queen, yes, you alone, only you, no one else…”

“Fucking right,” Alexander purrs. “Now turn over. Let me get a good look at you. I want to see your face when I fuck you.”

George flops over onto his back unceremoniously, moving with Alexander’s guiding hands, and he is abruptly stricken by how beautiful Alexander looks, his hair a wild mess around his face, his mouth and chin shining wet with saliva, his eyes blown black with lust.

George moans softly, his legs falling open of their own accord. “My liege…”

Alexander flashes a rakish smile, then he begins to strip, peeling off first his sweater, then his jeans, then his boxer briefs, which come away from his skin sticky with precome. George stares blatantly at Alexander’s cock, hard and red and leaking steadily against the jut of his hipbone. Alexander gives the shaft a few perfunctory tugs, swearing through gritted teeth, and George bites his lower lip, spreading his legs deliberately now. “Yes, please, oh please, my Alexander, my Queen…”

“Tell me how badly you want my cock, darling,” Alexander breathes, gripping himself and teasing the head in light circles around George’s rim. George’s hips stutter, and he clenches wildly at the sheets, gasping. 

“So badly, so very badly, ah god,  _ please _ , please fuck me, I want you, need you, need you inside me god oh god  _ please _ \--”

“Say that again,” Alexander snaps. 

“Please.”

“Again. Louder.”

“Please! God oh please I beg of you--”

“Again. Keep saying it.”

Tears spring to George’s eyes, unbidden, and he tosses his head back and forth, his words an unfettered stream. “Please oh god oh please please please pleaseplease _ please  _ Alexander please I’ll do anything please--”

Suddenly, Alexander grasps each of his knees and pulls them flush together, holding him there, and George falls silent, confused. Then he watches with increasing despairing realization as Alexander fucks not inside his ass which he begged for so deliriously, but between his thighs, slipping his cock in and out of the tight channel that his legs make. George cries out brokenly. “Oh no, oh please, no please Alexander please, my Queen, please, I am begging you--”

Alexander laughs, and it’s a cruel, sublime thing, as he continues to fuck George’s thighs with abandon. “I’m  _ fucking _ you, darling. Isn’t this what you wanted? For me to  _ use _ you for my pleasure?”

George opens and closes his mouth several times, at a total loss for words, his cock twitching valiantly against his stomach. “I, I…oh god...”

Alexander laughs again, his breath quickening while he fucks George’s thighs faster and faster. “You exist to serve me, to serve your Queen,” he grunts, and George feels his cheeks stained wet with tears. Alexander moans. “Christ, just look at you, knowing you’ll only get what I give you, fucking  _ aching _ for it, aren’t you, sweetheart? God, fuck, you’re gorgeous when you’re denied, let me see your face, let me see you when I come all over you… ahh, fuck,  _ god _ …”

Alexander trails off, pumps his hips once, twice, three times, and then he stills, going rigid as he comes with a loud, tremorous sigh. His cock pulses over and over, trapped between George’s thighs, painting George’s chest and stomach in long, hot ribbons. Alexander keeps his eyes open and fixed on George the entire time, his mouth parted, and George squirms under his gaze, whimpering.

“Oh, George, darling,” Alexander says on an exhale, and he releases George’s legs, pushes them apart, drags his fingers through the mess of his own come pooled on George’s belly. He presses three fingers back inside George without further preamble, using his seed as lubrication, and George  _ keens _ , writhing.  

“Yes,” Alexander says, his voice an authoritative growl. He crooks his fingers deep inside George, stroking deliberately at his prostate, and George sees stars, his vision whiting out. “Yes, yes, come for me, just like this, on your Queen’s fingers. Come for me, only me, come, come now, do as I command.”

“Alexander!” George sobs, and the levee breaks, and he comes and comes and comes.

Alexander works him through it diligently, rubbing his prostate back and forth and whispering soft encouragement, murmuring, “yes” and “that’s it” and “you’re so beautiful, so fucking beautiful” and “I love you, I love you, I love you,” until George finally flinches away, oversensitive and utterly spent, trembling minutely.

Alex pulls his fingers out carefully, but George can’t help the small, pathetic sound that escapes him at the loss, and Alex shushes him, soothes a hand over his hip and drops a feather light kiss to the inside of one of his knees. He gets up, comes back a minute later with a cool, wet washcloth, cleans George with a quiet, intimate tenderness that makes George feel like crying all over again. 

Alex finishes, and he cuddles up close to George, wrapping his arms around his middle and resting his face in the crook of his neck. They stay like that for a few minutes, just breathing together, and George cards a hand through Alex’s hair.

“Thank you,” he says, finally. “You were exquisite.”

Alex hums happily, burrowing further into George’s side. “You weren’t so bad yourself, old man.”

George rolls his eyes, fond, kisses the crown of Alex’s head. “That was certainly... unexpected.”

“Yeah,” Alex agrees. “Kind of for me too. It just… felt right, I guess. I like being in that headspace, sometimes.”

“You won’t hear me complaining,” George rumbles, and they both laugh, easy and comfortable.

They lay together in silence for a while, and when Alex’s breaths begin to slow into his familiar patterns of pre-slumber, George speaks up, a little shy.

“Um. Alexander?”

Alex stirs. “Hmm?”

“Will you…” George flushes, stares firmly up at the ceiling. “Ah. Could you spoon me? Please.”

There’s a pause, and for a mortifying moment George thinks he’s gone too far, but then Alex kisses his cheek and says, “Of course, babe. Scooch over.”

So George turns onto his side, hiding his face in the pillow, and Alex nestles his body behind him, brushes his lips against the back of his neck. He moves his hand over George’s heart, whispers, “love you” into his skin.

  
George closes his eyes, and he smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> Queen Alex has never left my head, and after discussion of bottom George on my dash... well


End file.
